The first time I heard Sunbear’s “Let Love Flow for Peace,” I quickly understood why the album had become a cult favorite among collectors. Like many listeners discovering it decades after its release, I was immediately drawn in by its timelessness, spirituality, and superb musicianship.
Naturally, I wanted to know more.
After buying the record, I did what most of us do: search the internet, hoping to learn more about the musicians behind the music. To my surprise, there was remarkably little information about the people who created an album so deeply admired by collectors and musicians alike. Rather than accept the mystery, I decided to go straight to the source.
When I finally had the chance to speak with Sun of Sunbear, I expected our conversation to revolve around their self-titled album, Soul Train Records, and the album’s resurgence among vinyl collectors nearly five decades later.
We talked about all those things, but somewhere along the way, the conversation stopped being about records. Instead, it became a story about faith, brotherhood, and the little boy who first discovered the power of music in a small Southern Baptist church.
As the son of a pastor, Ahaguna G. Sun (born Arnie Oliver) spent his childhood watching neighbors arrive to church carrying the weight of everyday life. Yet when the singing and sermons began, something extraordinary happened. For one brief hour, they were free from their burdens.
“When I saw what the singing did to them,” he told me, “I wanted to do that. I thought, ‘If music’s that powerful, I want to be a part of that.'”
Growing up in Pulaski, Tennessee, Sun remembers it as a place where “everybody knew everybody.” After discovering his love for music in church, Sun knew he wanted to follow that calling wherever it might lead. At seventeen, he packed up and moved to Los Angeles to begin his career as a professional musician.
Determined to master his craft, Sun became an accomplished self-taught drummer and singer. He soon expanded into songwriting and other instruments, spending countless hours honing his skills. “I practiced every day back then,” he recalls. “That’s how I got a lot of ideas.”
That dedication soon connected him with a community of extraordinary musicians. Long before Frankie Beverly & Maze became one of soul music’s most defining groups, Sun was performing alongside them, when the band was first known as Raw Soul.
“We were playing together way before they became Maze, way before any of us got a record deal,” he says with a laugh. “Back when we just used to play for food and beer.”
The Birth of Sunbear
Sun met guitarist Werner “Bear” Schuchner in 1973 while Bear was performing with “Express Yourself” hitmaker Charles Wright. A year later, the two musicians began writing together and quickly realized they shared a rare musical chemistry. Before long, they formed Sunbear, combining Ahaguna G. Sun’s last name with Bear’s longtime nickname.
“Later,” Sun laughs, “we found out there really are sunbears somewhere in Asia. We didn’t even know that when we came up with it.”
Not long after arriving in California, Sun became friends with music executive Dick Griffey. The two quickly bonded over their Tennessee roots, building a connection that soon opened doors for him and Bear. Through Griffey, Sunbear was introduced to Soul Train creator Don Cornelius in 1977, instantly leading to a recording contract with Soul Train Records.
Within the same year, Sun and Bear entered RCA Studios to record their self-titled debut. The pair moved freely between instruments and vocals, making their versatility one of the album’s defining strengths. Sun laid down the drums, percussion, and much of the album’s lead vocals, while Bear anchored the arrangements with guitar and bass. Together, they layered soul, jazz, funk, and spiritual influences into a sound that was both intricate and forward-thinking.
To bring Sunbear to life visually, Don Cornelius enlisted legendary Japanese illustrator Shusei Nagaoka, whose surreal paintings had already become iconic through his work with Earth, Wind & Fire and countless other artists. Rather than commissioning a standard promotional portrait, Cornelius wanted the artwork to tell a story of its own.
Drawing inspiration from the Greek myth of Icarus and biblical influences, the cover explores themes of ambition, consequence, and faith.
“If you notice on the record,” Sun explains, “Icarus got too close to the sun, and his feathers started falling off.”
Among the album’s 10 tracks was one song that would become its spiritual centerpiece: “Let Love Flow for Peace.” When I tell him it’s my favorite track on the album, he laughs. “It’s not even a complete song,” he says. “It’s more like a mood.”
That description feels strangely perfect. Rather than following a traditional verse-and-chorus structure, the song patiently reveals itself. It opens with a peaceful meditation before shifting into a warm, hypnotic groove. Nearly a minute later, Sun’s vocals emerge, gently transforming the song into a beautiful sermon on peace, love, and compassion.
For Sun, the message wasn’t born in a recording studio. It came from the lessons he learned growing up as a preacher’s son.
“I was using the teachings of my father about letting love flow for peace and loving your fellow man,” he explains.
Sun and Bear built the foundation of the song before Soul Train Records brought in Greg Phillinganes, a young prodigy recently discovered by Stevie Wonder at the time. Phillinganes added the song’s unforgettable keyboard textures and experimental synths.
“It was really just me and Bear,” Sun recalls. “Then Greg came in, and they asked him, ‘What would you do to this?’ Then he put his touch on it, and I think it’s really beautiful.”
Sunbear Finds Its Audience
When Sunbear was released in 1977, it arrived at the tail end of the jazz-funk era just as disco was beginning to dominate the commercial landscape. Although the album never found a wide commercial audience at the time, it quietly built a devoted following among collectors, DJs, musicians, and rare-groove enthusiasts. Today, the original LP is considered a grail within the jazz-funk vinyl community, making it one of the genre’s most coveted collector’s pieces.
Songs from Sunbear have also been sampled and reinterpreted by hip-hop artists, including Nas and 9th Wonder, carrying the music into a new era and introducing it to a new generation of listeners.
Its lasting appeal goes beyond its status as a collector’s item. Its intricate arrangements reward repeated listening, revealing new layers with every listen. Equally enduring are the album’s themes of love, compassion, and spirituality, which feel just as relevant today as they did in 1977.
The Realities of the Music Industry
Even though the album is more celebrated today than it was when it first arrived, the recognition also comes with a bittersweet reality.
Like many young artists of the era, Sun and Bear signed their first recording contract before they fully understood the business side of the music industry.
“Me and Bear signed a bad contract,” Sun explains. “We were young, and we didn’t know what we were doing.”
Shortly after Sunbear’s debut album, Cornelius decided to step away from Soul Train Records, leaving Dick Griffey as the head of the record label. Soon after, Griffey reorganized the label, changing its name to SOLAR (Sound of Los Angeles Records). Having learned from his first contract, Sun stood his ground, refusing to sign another deal without better terms. That decision ultimately brought Sunbear’s time with SOLAR Records to an end.
A few years later, The Whispers recorded Sunbear’s “Fantasy” in 1980. Even though the new version still featured Sun’s original background vocals and the original instrumental performances by Sun, Bear, and Greg Phillinganes, neither songwriter shared in the song’s financial success.
Despite the hardships of the music industry, Sun reflects on his journey with remarkable gratitude.
“It all worked out,” Sun says. “Coming from a poor family, what brought me the most joy was being able to make enough to help my mother and father.”
Now, Sun chooses to focus on what remains: the music, the people who continue discovering it, and the chance to keep creating.
“I’m here, I’m alive, and I’m still being creative,” he says.
While working on the Sunbear album, another opportunity arrived that would further shape Sun’s musical journey. After spending years with Frankie Beverly during the Raw Soul days, he received an unexpected phone call from his former bandmate.
Maze was recording what would become Golden Time of Day in Golden, Colorado, and Beverly wanted him behind the drums.
“Frank called me and said, ‘We’re out here making this album called Golden Time of Day, and we know you know most of the songs. Do you want to come out and be a part of the project?'” Sun recalls.
He didn’t hesitate. Sun also returned for Maze’s follow-up album, Inspiration, and soon found himself touring with the band. Looking back, he speaks about those years with the same warmth and humility that runs throughout his story.
Always Sunbear
Despite what many online sources suggest, Sunbear’s story didn’t end after one album. In fact, Sun and Bear’s journey continued for four decades, often under different names.
During the 1980s, powerhouse bassist Juan Nelson became Sunbear’s third member after a chance meeting in Los Angeles. But Juan wasn’t meeting Sunbear for the first time.
“He said, ‘Are you Sunbear?'” Ahaguna recalls with a smile. “‘I’m from Ohio, and my band used to play your record all the time. We learned songs from your album!'”
For Sun, it was a full-circle moment. The music he and Bear had poured themselves into years earlier had quietly reached another generation of musicians, one of whom would go on to spend nearly two decades performing alongside them.
“Those were my brothers,” Sun says. “We played really well together, and it was just a really natural thing.”
Throughout the years, even as each member accepted higher-profile opportunities—Sun touring with Frankie Beverly & Maze, Bear performing with Switch, and Juan joining Ben Harper—they never viewed those projects as the end of Sunbear.
“We vowed to always be together,” Sun says. “Those gigs were paying more than we were making, so we all agreed to support each other and go do what would work for us for a little while.”
From Sunbear to Politics to Big Advice
Not long after Juan joined Sunbear, the trio’s exceptional musicianship caught the attention of Roger Clinton during a performance in Los Angeles in 1992. Roger soon invited them to join forces with him after his brother, Bill Clinton, was elected president. For the next eight years, Sun, Bear, Juan, and Roger toured together extensively as Politics, performing across the United States as well as internationally.
“Roger changed the name from Sunbear to Politics,” Sun laughs. “We went along with it because we knew who we were.”
As soon as their time as Politics came to an end in 2001, Sun, Bear, and Juan returned to performing as Sunbear.
Before long, another opportunity arrived when the group signed with Electric Monkey Records in 2003. With the new deal came another name change, this time to Big Advice.
“Some of those songs were actually older than the songs on the Sunbear record.” Sun recalls. “I told Bear, ‘When we get another record deal, we’re gonna record them.'”
The record deal itself came through an unlikely chain of events. Giorgio Bertuccelli, an Italian soccer player whose playing career ended after a broken leg, spent his recovery listening to Frankie Beverly & Maze records featuring Sun, making him an instant fan. After meeting in Los Angeles, Bertuccelli introduced the group to the label’s owner, Michael Skloff.
Released in 2003, Big Advice’s Love Shines album feels like a natural continuation of the genre-defying musical vision that Sunbear introduced in 1977. Looking back, Sun doesn’t separate the two. To him, they were simply different names for the same journey.
The trio continued to perform together as Sunbear/Big Advice until Bear’s passing in 2013 and Juan’s passing in 2021.
“It was pretty hard for me losing Juan and Bear,” Sun told me. “But I pray to our Savior and ask Him to show me what to do and how to keep going. And here I am.”
Full Circle
After decades in the music industry, Sun continues to create because music is just a part of who he is.
“Before the pandemic, my band and I used to play all the time,” he says. “When the pandemic hit, I lost about forty gigs.”
This prompted Sun to begin thinking differently about what he wanted the next chapter of his life to look like.
“I got out of competitive mode and decided to spend the rest of my life in creative mode,” he says. “I still write, produce, sing, and play drums on recordings.”
That shift in perspective also inspired one of his most personal recent songs, “First Time,” dedicated to his son.
“He had never been that far from home before,” Sun says. “I prayed on it, and I was really inspired to write a song about it.”
His upcoming album, Full Circle featuring Ahaguna G. Sun & Friends, is expected to drop this fall. The title feels especially appropriate for someone who began his journey as a preacher’s son inspired by his father’s word, and now finds himself creating with the hope of leaving something meaningful for his own children to cherish.
When I think back on my conversation with Ahaguna G. Sun, I don’t just think about a remarkable record. I think about a little boy sitting in church, watching music lift people’s spirits. I think about three lifelong friends—Sun, Bear, and Juan—who promised to keep creating together no matter where life took them. I think about a man who continues to create, trusting that the music will find the people who need it most.
Nearly fifty years after Sunbear, the dream that began in that little church in Pulaski is still reaching people all over the world. The feeling Ahaguna set out to create as a little boy still lives on every time someone is moved by his music.
By the end of our conversation, I realized that the tranquility I heard in that album wasn’t a coincidence. It was the product of a life shaped by faith, family, brotherhood, and an unwavering belief that music should leave people feeling lighter than it found them. Long before I ever knew Ahaguna G. Sun’s story, his music had already done that for me.
